A solitary wander around Paris. Aimless, filled with joy and surprise and delight. Hours passing unnoticed under grey skies. I come across an arcade, a place of secrets. Light floods in through glass panels, works of art in themselves. The sounds echo, muffled, the hiss of a coffee machine, the scent of grinding beans. I am […]Read Post ›
A solitary wander around Paris. Aimless, filled with joy and surprise and delight. Hours passing unnoticed under grey skies. I come across an arcade, a place of secrets. Light floods in through glass panels, works of art in themselves. The sounds echo, muffled, the hiss of a coffee machine, the scent of grinding beans. I am […]Read Post ›
A solitary wander around Paris. Aimless, filled with joy and surprise and delight. Hours passing unnoticed under grey skies. I come across an arcade, a place of secrets. Light floods in through glass panels, works of art in themselves. The sounds echo, muffled, the hiss of a coffee machine, the scent of grinding beans. I am […]Read Post ›
A solitary wander around Paris. Aimless, filled with joy and surprise and delight. Hours passing unnoticed under grey skies. I come across an arcade, a place of secrets. Light floods in through glass panels, works of art in themselves. The sounds echo, muffled, the hiss of a coffee machine, the scent of grinding beans. I am […]Read Post ›
Do shops have souls? And what happens to the soul of a shop once its doors close for the last time? For a shop does not simply die, it lives on in the minds of those who once shopped there, who worked there, who created it, stocked it, cleaned it and loved it. A closed […]Read Post ›
A solitary wander around Paris. Aimless, filled with joy and surprise and delight. Hours passing unnoticed under grey skies. I come across an arcade, a place of secrets. Light floods in through glass panels, works of art in themselves. The sounds echo, muffled, the hiss of a coffee machine, the scent of grinding beans. I am […]Read Post ›
In the north of France, I walk past a row of shops, the atmosphere tinged with sadness perhaps. It is cold, my face tingling. The shops are closed now, inside a mystery. I chose a simple palette for this work, which is rich in both detail and in atmosphere. It makes an ideal addition to […]Read Post ›
A balmy evening alone in an ancient French city, the air redolent of garlic, of wine and tobacco, the sounds of laughter and music, the peeling of distant church bells whose sound carries over the slate roofs. At a corner I look up, the walls are thick and solid and a little worn, signage that […]Read Post ›
A solitary wander around Paris. Aimless, filled with joy and surprise and delight. Hours passing unnoticed under grey skies. I come across an arcade, a place of secrets. Light floods in through glass panels, works of art in themselves. The sounds echo, muffled, the hiss of a coffee machine, the scent of grinding beans. I am […]Read Post ›
In the north of France, I walk past a row of shops, the atmosphere tinged with sadness perhaps. It is cold, my face tingling. The shops are closed now, inside a mystery. I chose a simple palette for this work, which is rich in both detail and in atmosphere. It makes an ideal addition to […]Read Post ›
Andrew Reid Wildman, Scottish Artist living in France 
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